he
desired the man's companionship. They had worked together. They had
planned and built together. And, now, in the moment of battle, it seemed
to him they should still be together.

But he knew that was impossible. When Bull's call to the forest had come
in the night there had been no opportunity for explanation. He, Bat, had
been engaged down at the mill, and the other had been rushed in his
preparations. Bull had made his farewell to him in a great hurry. He had
outlined briefly the thing happening in the forests. That had been all.
That and a few words on the affairs of the mill.

How the news had reached Bull, and who the messenger, had never
transpired between them. Perhaps Bull had forgotten to mention it.
Perhaps, in the hurry of it all, Bat had forgotten to ask. Perhaps,
even, the messenger himself had impressed secrecy for his visit, which
had been timed for the dead of night. At any rate Bat knew none of these
things, and was in no way concerned for them. All he was concerned for
was the absence of the man who was something more to him than a mere
partner.

Thinking of him now Bat remembered the other's final words, and the
memory stirred him deeply.

"Remember, old friend," he had said, "young Ray Birchall will be over
from England at the break of winter. On his report to his people depends
the whole thing we've built up. We've got to have these mills running
full when that boy gets around. There's not a darn thing else matters."

It was the final spur. The mills running full. Bat spat out his chew,
and turned and locked the door behind him. Then he moved away hurriedly,
gazing straight in front of him as though he dared not even think of the
place he was leaving.

* * * * *

On the foreshore of the Cove, out towards the guarding headlands, half a
hundred fires were burning. They were immense beacon fires of monstrous
proportions. Belching columns of smoke clouded the whole region till the
water-front looked to be in the grip of a forest fire.

Men, and women, and children were gathered about them. They were basking
in a moderation of temperature such as their homes could no longer
afford them. But it was a curious, silent gathering, indifferent to
everything but the feeding of the fires on which they felt their very
existence depended.

The forests which supplied the fuel came down to the edge of the now
idle trolley track. Already acres and acres had been felled t